


coda

by brokenlittleboy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angstfest, Gen, suicidal!Sam, tag to 8.23
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:31:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlittleboy/pseuds/brokenlittleboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of the final scene of the season eight finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	coda

The car ride home was silent, and filled with tension strung so tight one could play it like a violin. In all of his fidgeting, Dean had turned on the radio, like he always does. The sound grated far too loudly and Sam winced, already feeling past his breaking point, and let Dean have his moment. He felt stretched, torn, and haggard beyond all measure. He didn’t have the composition to properly think over his situation, much less tell Dean “oh yeah, I’m still pretty suicidal, so long and thanks for all the fish”.

Belatedly, he felt his consciousness dulling, receding, and washing further away. The steady thrum of the engine lulled him away, and the last thing he felt was his body falling against Dean before he blacked out.

Sam didn’t know how much time had passed. He only knew that he still felt like hell frozen over, and he couldn’t open his damn eyes. Soft, extremely gentle pin pricks of feeling mapped him out, and he scrabbled to get more purchase on what was going on. Dean might need his help.

 _Fingers._ That’s what the feeling was— careful touches moving the buttons from his shirt and the hair from his face. A cool, wet washcloth hit his skin, and someone was scrubbing the dirt and blood from his skin. His eyes flickered open and he saw Dean above him, looking pretty riled up, scared, and concerned out of his mind. He also noticed that he was now in his bed, in the bunker. Dean must’ve moved him, must’ve carried him, acting like he was this precious cargo.

Sam muttered something that might’ve been “thank you” or “I love you” before he was lost to the world again.

The next time he awoke, he was clean. And fully conscious, thank everything. Dean had refused to let him sit up, instead fluffing his fucking pillow, for God’s sakes, and then he had left to get Sam some food. Like he was this pampered prince. Sam was grateful, and he knew he’d probably faint if he tried to go get food himself, but he hated it. No bone in his body thought he deserved any of this nurturing. 

When Dean got back, bowl of tomato soup in one hand and milk in the other, Sam was sitting up, and he looked  _pissed._

And, he was crying.

 

"Sammy?" Dean asked instantly, all brother-systems on alert. He set the food tray on the nightstand before sitting next to Sam and wrapping an arm around him, letting him lean against him in case he was too tired out.

Sam wiped the tears from his face in anger, and Dean saw that the bandage around his hand was dotted with red. To top all that, Sam took Dean’s hand from around him, and scooted  _away_.

"Sammy?" Dean queried again, this time hesitant, afraid. "Care to tell me what’s goin’ on in that head of yours?"

Sam looked at him briefly, but he melted, as if he had some big stronghold put up against Dean. He removed the space between them, but Dean didn’t replace his arm. He knew better, knew Sam had something to stay. So he stayed quiet, and listened, hoping to God it would give him something to work with, something to make Sam better. Because he knew Sam wasn’t okay, even after all of this.

"I tried…" Sam took a shuddering breath and looked toward the ceiling for a moment. "I tried so damn hard to fix this. And I couldn’t." The last sentence was bitter, self-deprecating. 

"To fix what?" Dean gently eased him on.

Sam laughed brokenly, and weakly gestured to the whole room. Dean followed his gaze confusedly. “All of it.” Sam said. “All of the things that I’ve done. I thought maybe,  _just maybe_ , I had one last shot at redemption. That by closing the gates, I could be forgiven. That I wouldn’t have to live with this big fucking weight on my shoulders. But I couldn’t even do it.” Sam shook his head. “I couldn’t close those gates, Dean. I just… what am I good for? You should’ve just let me finish it.”

He wiped his eyes again, and Dean’s heart sunk as deeply as possible. He had been so blind to Sam’s hurt. This was worse than he had thought.

"You would’ve died," Dean stated, for lack of anything else to say.

"What good am I doing alive?!" Sam sputtered, searching Dean’s eyes for something he couldn’t define.  _So many things_  are on me, Dean. They’re on  _me_. They always will be. If I just hadn’t been born-“

"I’m so, so sorry," Dean interrupted hoarsely.

Sam looked at him in pure confusion. “It’s not your fault,” he replied immediately.

"Yeah it is," Dean said as if it were obvious. Sam opened his mouth to protest but Dean held up a hand, effectively silencing him before he continued. "The fact that you think you’re worthless, that you’d rather-" he swallowed. He couldn’t say it. It was worse than hell. "All of that, Sammy, isn’t true. I should’ve seen how you were feeling. I should’ve known what was going on. But I didn’t. I didn’t help you."

"Dean-"

"No!" he burst out, in a panic, and Sam quieted. "No. I was selfish. I was so busy feeling sorry myself, about Purgatory…"

Sam gave him a pointed look. Dean smiled.

"Yeah. I know Purgatory was bad. But I ignored you, Sammy. I’m supposed to know you. I’m supposed to be there for you, and I fucking wasn’t. That’s my job. Look out for you. And look what I’ve done again, look what I’ve done to you. I’m sorry."

"You can’t do everything, Dean," Sam chided, his voice near a whisper and his eyes watery.

"It’s second nature," he assured Sam, "I just… I need you to know. What you are. You’re not a monster, or a freak, or a failure, or any of that shit that I know is going through you’re head. You’re a hero, Sam. A goddamn hero."

Sam shook his head vividly. “What about you?” he asked.

"What about me?" Dean responded, puzzled.

"You’re the hero. Not me." Sam looked at him, looked up to him, just like he used to. The hero-worship look he gave Dean sometimes. To Dean, he looked like just a little kid again, and it broke his heart.

Dean laughed softly. “Maybe a little bit of one,” he agreed, “But you, Sammy, you’ve done so much. I need you to know. I need you to believe me, kiddo. You’re loved. You’ve saved the fucking world, and you don’t need to prove anything to anyone, certainly not me. You never did. Everyone fucks up sometimes, and you need to get outta that big as hell shadow you have. The worst thing about you is that you’re the biggest saint out there, and no one’s ever gonna know your name.”

Sam sat in shock for a moment, just looking at Dean— looking over him, looking into him. Dean boldly returned the look— he meant everything he’d said. And then Sam started crying again.

"I’m sorry," he choked, blushing a bright red. "Dean, I just—"

"Hey, shh," Dean consoled, wrapping his arm back around Sam and pulling him closer. "It’s okay, dude. I know. I’m here." He rubbed circles into Sam’s back with one hand.

They stayed like that for awhile, Sam letting everything out, and Dean guiding him through it, heart beating wildly. His Sammy-sensor, which had been out of batteries for so long, was back online in full force. He knew this was a step forward.

"Hey, and shit doesn’t get done in a day," Dean said a moment after Sam stopped shaking. "We haven’t reached some solution or anything, but we’re getting there, okay? This is a step forward. We can to this, _together,_ " he stressed the last word.

Sam grinned, a genuine smile, dimples showing, and nodded against Dean. “Yeah.” he blinked, and nodded again. “Yeah, okay. We’re getting there,”

Dean sighed in pure relief, and then took Sam’s hand in his own. “Now, don’t be a bitch and let me patch this up,” he said.

Sam was worn out again, Dean could tell, but he kept awake for Dean. “Jerk,” he mumbled tiredly, and Dean laughed brightly, grabbing the med kit from under the bed.

Yeah, this was the beginning of something.


End file.
